


His Liam

by SoftlyandSwiftly



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: M/M, Manager!liam, PWP, Singer!Zayn, slight dom/sub overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 12:04:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6905689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoftlyandSwiftly/pseuds/SoftlyandSwiftly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam smiles, the way he does when he wins a business deal, fierce and confident, and Zayn’s done for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Liam

**Author's Note:**

> So I just found this on my computer, and I think I wrote it when I was playing around with the idea of writing producer!Liam and singer!Zayn. Obviously that never happened, and this fic doesn't actually feature producer!Liam, but I figured I'd post it anyways. It's nothing but smut, so enjoy!

“Listen,” Liam’s voice snaps across the room, and Zayn glances up with a half-cocked eyebrow. Liam’s not paying attention to him though as he paces further into the room. His phone is pressed hard against his ear, and it only takes Zayn a moment to puzzle out what’s going on, as Liam shoves clipped words down the phone.

Liam’s on the phone again with whoever the hell it is that he speaks to about arrangements for Zayn’s gigs. Honestly, Zayn lost the details of it all about five years ago when Liam put his number down instead of Zayn’s for contact information and Zayn’s whole freaking world suddenly exploded.

Zayn had ceded control that night. It’d been just another night out, another low level gig for Zayn, but when a man had approached asking about booking Zayn, he had floundered. He never did know what to tell people, usually scratching his number out on whatever scrap of paper he could find. That night though Liam had stepped in with a fond eye roll and handed the man his number.

And just like that, Liam was his manager. It’d been something like fate, Zayn’s childhood friend just stumbling upon one of his gigs. Catching up at the bar, Liam had admitted he was in school for music but was focusing on the business side of things. His presence there when the man had asked was nothing but coincidence. Eighteen years old, and they just happened to click into a business relationship that defined both their lives.

Five years later, and Zayn’s got a record deal he never expected and calls coming in all the time and gigs every week, but he also has Liam. Liam, who is the only reason Zayn has made it this far, he’s convinced. It’s all Liam, ever since he stepped up and just sort of became Zayn’s manager, and Zayn is beyond grateful that Liam came into his life again. Liam’s made him better, always and infinitely better, and he’s on the phone now continuing to fight for Zayn, always on Zayn’s side.

So really, Zayn should be nothing but grateful that Liam’s currently on the phone arguing with someone over the terms for Zayn’s next gig. He should be grateful and supportive and everything an act ought to be towards their manager.

He isn’t.

Zayn’s just really fucking turned on.

He fidgets on the couch, trying to go back to the comic he was reading to de-stress himself, and isn’t that just fucking ironic? Here he was trying to de-stress himself, and then Liam has to come in sounding all commanding and in charge and like he fully expects every one of his demands to be met as Zayn watches on and – and Zayn can’t even finish that train of thought without his dick giving an interested twitch.

Fuck.

He shifts again, desperately trying to hide the way his cock is filling up, pressing against the seam of his trousers. It’s unfair, is what it is. Liam shouldn’t sound so bloody sexy when he’s arguing as Zayn’s fucking manager. There’s definitely something wrong about the way it turns Zayn on, Liam being so in charge all of the time. He can’t really bring himself to care though.

His eyes track Liam without permission as Liam paces back and forth, and Zayn has to bite back a noise when Liam stops and folds one arm over his chest. He’s wearing a button up with the sleeves carelessly shoved to his elbows, trousers slipping lower because he managed to shuck off his belt before his phone rang. His muscles tense, flexing, as his stance widens, and Liam’s looking off like he’s not even seeing Zayn’s living room right now, but fuck, it’s hot. It’s so hot as Liam frowns, and his eyes narrow.

“Stop,” he snaps, cutting the other person off, and Zayn knows he’s fucked because all he can imagine is laying out on a bed, naked so that Liam can see everything, his hand dipping towards his straining cock, so desperate for a hand around himself, and Liam telling him – “No, I didn’t say that,” Liam cuts in again.

Zayn feels like he’s burning, and he should not be finding this attractive. He should not be imagining Liam watching him, telling him what to do, using those large, capable hands – the ones that sign all of Zayn’s financial documents, the ones that hold pens with ease, the one’s that take care of literally everything for Zayn – to guide Zayn where he wants him, arranging his body like he arranges his schedule and –

Christ. Zayn is fucked up. He’s also incredibly hard now, and he doesn’t even know what Liam is arguing about. He loses the actual words, too caught up in the calm steeliness of Liam’s voice as he says, “Listen to me, and do exactly as I say...”

And Zayn wants to. Fuck, he wants to. He thinks he’d let Liam do anything to him, would do anything Liam asked, if he used that voice. He can picture it so easily. Liam still dressed as he is, suit jacket, shoes, and tie all discarded, but stood at the end of Zayn’s bed as Zayn slowly strips off his own disheveled clothes, cock jumping as Liam’s dark and focused eyes trace every inch of his body. He can picture Liam sitting in that armchair Zayn’s got in the corner, leaning forward so those forearms can rest along his knees as he gives Zayn his full attention. It’s far too easy to imagine Liam using that voice on him, telling him what to do, telling Zayn how good he is –

“Good,” Liam freaking purrs, like he’s making a mockery of Zayn’s dirty fantasy, and Zayn wants to die. Liam’s still wrapped up in his conversation, clueless, and Zayn wants to melt into his sofa.

Liam’s voice, and his hands, and his clothes, and just fucking Liam – it’s all doing him in. Zayn glares at him now, spitefully wishing that kid with the curly hair and wide, hopeful eyes that Zayn met when he was barely seven was still what Liam looks like, because Zayn never had these thoughts about that kid. But no, Liam had to come back into Zayn’s life looking like this, all developed muscle and wide shoulders, large hands, cut jaw, that facial hair that Zayn wants to feel along the inside of his thighs. His hair is no longer a mess of curls, but cut and styled into a quiff reminiscent of Zayn’s own, growing too long on the top to be styled anymore, and all Zayn wants is to bury his hands in it and fucking tug so he can bite hard at Liam’s throat, over that birthmark that’s been driving him wild since he was eighteen and willing to admit that he fancied blokes.

Zayn thought he was past these uncontrollable feelings, but he’s really fucking not. He thought having Liam in his life would diminish them, but it hasn’t. Christ, it hasn’t.

Zayn’s losing it. He can feel his cock digging into his zip, and he knows it’s just not going to go away until he sneaks into his bathroom for a dirty, shameful wank. It’s all his own fault too, because he knows by now what watching Liam like this does to him, and he should have left the room as soon as Liam paced in, but he can’t. He’s a fucking masochist, and he just had to stay and watch Liam break others to his will.

His fingers twitch like he wants to reach down and wrap a shameless hand around himself, and he knows he’s staring at Liam now. He should stop; he really should, but then Liam’s looking up. Those burning brown eyes meet his, and then Liam’s lips twitch as he smirks and says, so calm, so controlled, so confident, “Yes. You have my permission.”

Zayn bites back a groan, badly disguised, and that’s just not fucking fair. He’s not even convinced Liam is actually having a phone conversation now. There’s no way Zayn’s life is actually this ridiculous, but Liam’s watching him squirm on the couch with a faint air of confusion now. His eyebrow quirks up, and Zayn glares at him. Stupid, sodding attractive manager with his stupid, sodding attractive voice.

Liam goes back to calmly instructing the other person over the phone, and Zayn swears to himself that he’s not going to do anything drastic. He is a grown ass man who has control over himself, and he can will this stiffy away. With promises about wanking off later if he must, Zayn swears he can control himself. He thinks he might even have succeeded, right up until Liam swipes his tongue out against his bottom lip, eyes just happening to catch Zayn’s as he does it.

Zayn’s off the couch, comic cast roughly aside, before he can convince himself that this is not the time or place. His cock is aching, blurting precome out already, and Liam’s just standing there in his rumpled suit. He looks surprised as Zayn marches up, but fuck if Zayn cares.

He presses himself bodily against Liam, purposefully grinding his hips forward until Liam’s eyes widen at the feel of Zayn’s hard cock. Zayn lives for the way Liam flushes, smirking as Liam’s eyes darken, and his throat moves around a silent gasp. He can’t even feel of ashamed of himself right now, no room in his body for any feeling but this one.

Liam’s arms fold around Zayn with the ease of familiarity, even if he is surprised, and Zayn nearly purrs.

Zayn’s slim fingers wrap around Liam’s phone and tug it away easily as Liam’s hand has gone slack. “Sorry, something’s come up,” he breathes into the phone, voice just this side of appropriate, but he doesn’t care. He stares Liam down, daring him to try and argue otherwise, but Liam’s hands wrap around his hips, gripping tightly. Zayn nearly moans, pressing harder still into Liam until he’s half-convinced he could get off like this, in his jeans, grinding against Liam. “He’ll call you back,” he practically growls into the phone, ending the call and throwing it away in disgust.

“Problem?” Liam huffs out, sounding amused and fucking calm, and Zayn hates him; he swears he does. Nevermind the fact that they’ve been together since they were twenty and young and dumb and naïve; Nevermind the fact that Zayn’s house is their house in all but name; Nevermind the fact that Liam’s got a ring around his finger proclaiming him as Zayn’s for all the world to see. Nevermind any of that, Zayn swears he hates Liam fucking Payne (soon to be Malik) right now as he bats his eyes innocently at Zayn.

“Yes,” Zayn hisses out, burying his hands in Liam’s hair just like he wanted to and tugging ruthlessly until he can slam their mouths together. It isn’t a kiss, really, far too ungraceful for that, but Zayn doesn’t care. It’s hot and wet, and it’s Liam. He pulls back, pleased when Liam sucks in a surprised lungful of air, teasing expression wiped off his smug face. “See, I’ve got this insanely attractive fiancée,” Zayn purrs, leaning so he can whisper it directly into Liam’s ear and feel him shiver. “And he has this voice, one he only uses when he’s bossing people around, yeah? And I really, really want him to be bossing me around, but he keeps using it for business instead.”

“Sounds –” Liam’s breath hitches as Zayn dips his head and sucks hard on his neck, just where his collar sags to reveal the pale skin. “Sounds like a prick.”

Zayn huffs out a laugh. “Oh, he is. But he’s also got these hands that like to hold me down, and this cock that I swear splits me open when he fucks me with it, and sometimes, if I’m very lucky, he uses that voice to tell me what to do and I –”

“Fuck,” Liam cuts him off, his hands digging in almost painfully on Zayn’s hips. “Fucking hell, Zayn. Seriously? I’m trying to work.”

“So stop.”

“Zayn –”

But Zayn’s had enough. He’s hard, and his fiancée is right here, trying to hide the hard on Zayn can feel along his own, and he wants Liam now. He waited for years already, years of sorting out his own sexuality and finally convincing himself to make a move. Now that he’s got Liam, now that he’s had Liam for nearly three years, he’s done waiting.

“Stop,” Zayn breathes out again, fingers dancing along the nape of Liam’s neck just to make him shiver. He’s asking, he really is, even if it sounds like a demand. “Stop and fuck me instead.”

Liam doesn’t even bother answering. He just lifts Zayn up, bringing their lips together in a hard, claiming kiss, and Zayn nearly laughs into it as he wraps his legs tightly around Liam’s waist. He moans instead when Liam bites at his bottom lip as he carries them both into Zayn’s bedroom.

When Liam deposits him on the center of the unmade bed, eyes dark with arousal, Zayn nearly shudders. Liam smirks. “That was a very important business call.”

Zayn rolls his eyes, hands already going to his shirt to tug it off. He could care less. He just wants Liam to fuck him, mind already on everything he was thinking about before. Liam’s hand wrapping around his ankle in a possessive grip stops him cold. Zayn looks up, gulping when he sees the expression on Liam’s face, the very same one he wore earlier on the phone when he was daring the other person to argue with him.

“It was important,” Liam repeats, enunciating every syllable slowly, dragging the words out in that calm, silky tone. “So I think you’d better make it worth my while, hanging up on it, yeah?”

Zayn feels like he’s on fire, and it’s everything he wanted as he looks evenly at Liam, rising to the challenge in his eyes. “How?” his voice comes out small but certain. “How would you like me to make it up to you?”

Liam smiles, the way he does when he wins a business deal, fierce and confident, and Zayn’s done for. “Better start slow,” Liam hums, fingers tracing up Zayn’s ankle and leaving goosebumps in their wake. “Think I want to watch you get yourself off, before I have you ride me. Want that babe? Your body all loose and pliant as you fuck down on my cock?”

Zayn’s not even ashamed of the whine he releases, or the way he shoves back onto the bed, already tugging off his clothes as Liam moves to the armchair. When Liam settles into it, forearms on his knees and eyes fixed on Zayn alone, Zayn thinks he might have found everything he always wanted in Liam, his manager, yes, but his best mate before that, and now the love of his life.

 

And later, when they’re sprawled out on Zayn’s bed, naked and sweaty and content, Zayn will admit to Liam that him licking his lip is what did it, and Liam – a goofy, shameless grin playing over his lips – will admit that he might have paced into the living room on purpose. That he might have been playing it up a bit. That he might have been aware of what he was doing. And Zayn will gape at him for a moment, and then he’ll laugh, loud and joyous and ridiculous because that’s what they are, ridiculous. And they’ll doze off for an afternoon nap with Zayn’s fingers absently tracing the metal band around Liam’s ring finger.

Manager, best mate, boyfriend, fiancée, husband, perfect – Zayn thinks they all fit Liam. His Liam.


End file.
